They switched off the camera in her room. “That sound above board to you?”
I turn my attention back to the glass, stepping back to look at the corners. “I’m getting into that room, Oz.”
A pulse of something…dark, hits, and I almost fold over. “Right fucking now.”
Rage swells in my stomach, and I smash my hand against the glass with a roar.
Once.
Twice.
A crack appears, splintering my enraged reflection.
Another.
Not again. Whatever the fuck this is, we’re not losing her again. Not to the Center. Not to her own nightmares.
We are not losing you, Kenny.
Two-way glass is still… justglass.It fractures and gives way under my hands, cutting slices into my skin. I barely see the others as they join in, the four of us smashing our way through until a hundred different lines spread out.
The glass wobbles. And then it falls, crashing around us in thousands of sharp, broken shards.
A dozen faces turn to us. Most of them are hidden behind those ridiculous helmets. Joanne is plastered against the far wall, her face pale.
And on the bed… isKenny. Her face ashen, tear-stained, but still her.
“I’ve got you.” I slip her arms under her as she throws herself into me, lifting her and backing away from all of them. “It’s okay.”
She sobs into my neck, and I snarl at the closest person. “What the fuck is this? What are you trying to do to her?”
A face in the corner catches my eye. “And who the fuck are you?”
He looks like a suit. Turning slowly, he dips his head. “Thomas Parker. I’m the… chair of the board.”
Against my neck, a small snarl ripples. Pulling her closer, I let Oscar, Jake and Max spread out, keeping everyone back.
But I’m staring at him. At his face. “I know you.”
“I don’t think so.” He looks away from me. “This was… challenging. We’ll find Kennedy a new room immediately. Try again.”
Max’s hand clamps onto his shoulder. “Don’t move.”
I move closer, my hand cupping Kenny’s head. She’s shaking, and rage nearly blinds me. Until I get close enough to see his face.
And my blood turns cold. “I do know you.”
Not him. But his face.
“Who?” Oscar moves up beside me, frowning. “You do look familiar.”
Because he should recognize him too.
“Tell me,” I say tightly. “Why does my father have a photo of the two of you in his office?”
Some sort of golf tournament. I can see it, see the gaudy frame where it hangs on the wall, the two of them grinning as they hoist an oversized trophy in the air.
And the pieces…click. A puzzle that comes together in my head with dawning, horrific clarity.
